


Empty

by orangelightsaber



Series: Reylux Drabbles [4]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Miscarriage, Multi, but there's sweetness too, confused and hurt people trying to work through some sad stuff, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangelightsaber/pseuds/orangelightsaber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo works through his frustration.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Reylux.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty

* * *

 

The feel of his fist thudding into the other man’s chest is less satisfying then it should have been.

 

Hux takes the blow well, curving his body to absorb the brunt of it, snapping out his own fist in return. It glances off Ren’s shoulder as he struggles to dodge, caught back by the red-haired man’s speed.

 

“Where is she?” gasps Kylo, rubbing at the spot where knuckles rasped skin.

 

“She doesn’t want to see you yet,” Hux grits back, winded, but Kylo doesn’t understand. He’s never understood—all needy, grabbing hands and _wanting._ All impulse and heat. Molten iron that needs to be struck and struck again, hammered into useful shapes.

 

Kylo barrels forward, a hoarse, raw noise tearing from his throat. His fists are heavy, meat-thick blows, slow but unyielding. He strikes and strikes again, heaving hot breaths, a beast whose snapping bites mask nothing more than fear.

 

“Why--,” he heaves out, as he punches, “Why should you know what she needs better than me?” His teeth are clenched tight, thick, straining ropes of muscle threading down his neck. Hux dodges, swift and careless, the ease of the movement only serving to anger Kylo further. The red-haired man swings out an arm, palm open. It catches Kylo in the cheek—noise ringing out through the otherwise silent room.

 

Stillness, then, as the dark-haired man hunches over, nearly crumpling—hands on knees as breaths come quick and jagged. Hux waits, counting ten silent seconds, the silence stretching tight between them.

 

“Because she told me, and I _listened_ ,” his voice is matter-of-fact, but he takes no pleasure in chastising. He simply knows that Kylo needs to hear, needs to feel, needs to break before he can mend.

 

Kylo roars—more frustration than pain—and lunges at Hux, catching him about the waist with startling speed. They tumble to the ground as he uses his larger weight to pin the slim man to the mat.  _This should be the end of it._

 

Hux struggles vainly against his grip for a moment before speaking, head tilted quizzically. “Are you wearing a cup?”

 

“Ye--,” Kylo’s mouth has barely begun to form the word, instinctive, when Hux’s leg slams upward, leaving him breathless. Edges crashing up into the sensitive flesh surrounding his groin. A hot wave of nausea lurches up from the pit of his stomach.

 

He’s barely had time to stumble backwards when the top of Hux’s foot catches him in the thigh, sending him sprawling. While Ren tends toward the primal thrill of boxing—arms and fists catching in a duet of brute strength above all else—Hux’s pragmatism has never allowed him to deny a weapon when he sees one, be it elbows, feet, or teeth.

 

Kylo crawls backward as the other man advances, relentless. He manages to scramble to his feet, angrier now. He lashes out with a fist, catching Hux in the chin, splitting his lip. Blood wells up, ruby-bright, trailing smoothly down his skin.

 

Hux wipes the trail away with the back of his hand. Tagging his arm red.

 

Blows trade, a seesaw back and forth of fists and feet. Kylo is caught in the eye, blue bruise blossoming instantly. Vision impaired he starts to swing more haphazardly, missing more often than he hits. He’s close now. Cracks ticking through his façade, tears burning at the edges of his eyes.

 

A final blow cracks out, catching Kylo across the jaw. The hot tang of copper fills his mouth. It’s enough. He crumples, sobs shaking his body as he breaks—sweetly, sadly. Hux kneels in front of him, cupping his face upward, kissing soft trails along his tear-stained cheeks.

 

“Hey. _Hey._ It’s going to be alright.”

 

Ren fists his hands into Hux’s shirt, pulling him close, closer. It’s several long moments before his sobs settle, relaxing into jagged breaths. Hux doesn’t move, merely lends him the solace of his arms, tight around the other man’s back.

 

“You’re not worried?” Kylo asks finally. The words trickling out of his mouth alongside the blood that drips there steadily. Hux wipes it away with a thumb.

 

“No,” replies Hux. “No, I’m not worried.” Kylo can’t tell whether he’s lying. For once, he supposes, he’s thankful for that.

 

* * *

 

Noise rouses Kylo from sleep. Sweat-sticky and heated, Hux’s arm across his chest feels like a burning brand. He shoves it off, the comfort of hours ago suddenly stifling, and rolls over to grasp at his datapad with desperate fingers. The sudden, garish glow of it startles a curse from Hux, who rolls over pointedly.

 

_Nothing._ No waiting message. Nothing but cold blue light searing his retinas.

 

Another noise. He’s halfway out of bed before the ache sets in, muscles tight. Tender. Feeling like a stone worn down by the crush of the ocean. Each crashing wave of it, the grit of the sand and the salt of sea grinding him raw till he emerges, some smooth new thing.

 

He stumbles, face sleep heavy and swollen, on tender feet to the bedroom steps. The walk to the kitchen is achingly slow, each step like teaching himself to move anew, muscles long forgotten screaming now for attention.

 

She’s there.

 

She sits, knees tucked up under her chin, folded small. Her fingers work through a splash of milk that’s spilled on the counter, drawing idle blue symbols. A glass of the same sits in front of her, untouched.

 

Unsure whether she wants to talk he steps toward the fridge, pulling the carton out to pour a glass for himself. She waits until is back is turned to speak.

 

“I’m sorry,” her voice is small. Worn dry and cracked like she’s been crying, screaming.

 

He turns to look at her, then. Guilt and sadness and fear all welling up inside, feeling so full he might burst of them. “No,” he says, “No, Rey, you have nothing to be sorry about.”

 

Her eyes, when she finally looks up, are red-rimmed and anxious. “I thought you might hate me.”

 

The carton of milk thuds against the floor, a ribbon splash of blue eking out along the tile floor. Forgotten as he takes her into his arms, mouth and nose pressed tight against her hair. “No,” he whispers into her, hoping it’s enough. “No.”

 

Her hands splay out across her belly. Cracked, dry hands. Hands rubbed raw from too many washings. Never enough to wash away the slippery feel of the blood.

 

He covers her hands with his own; gentle where hers have been rough, loving where hers have been harsh.

 

“I felt it, you know,” she says softly, and he did know, the soft pulse of life that had blossomed within her. He had felt it too. _Before_.

 

“I know,” he says, lips soft against the press of her neck. “I know.” They stay like that for what might be hours. Soft and hard, black lines and white ones, curves and angles, all laid out— _bare._

 

A noise startles them, but it is only Hux, sleep-worn and weary. He scoffs at the milk where it lays but makes no move to right it. There is relief in his eyes when he sees Rey—cracked and worn but _here_ and _safe_ —and he wraps his arms about the two of them, presses his face against Kylo’s neck, settles his hands on top of their own.

 

“It’s going to be alright.”

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk with me on tumblr
> 
> [Orange-lightsaber](http://orange-lightsaber.tumblr.com)


End file.
